


Every Day's Most Quiet Need

by katiebour



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-25
Updated: 2011-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:29:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebour/pseuds/katiebour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from a prompt on the k!meme:<br/><i>It seems to be standard fanon that Anders is tall, right? I want to see a petite F!Hawke to go with him. </i></p><p><i>I'm 4'11", and my fiance is 6'3", so I have experience with such things. I know firsthand how limiting it can be, how frustrating it is at times, and how downright awesome it is at others. I'd give our firstborn to see something involving the fandom's favorite apostate and his lady love and their unbalanced heights.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Day's Most Quiet Need

**Author's Note:**

> Since my own sweetie is 6'4" to my 5'5", I can sympathize. And ever since I saw this pic (http://marinelli.deviantart.com/art/Can-I-touch-it-166052818) and this pic (http://emmav.deviantart.com/art/Dragon-Age-Anders-201396071)it's kinda stuck in my head that Anders would be a taller guy.
> 
> So in other words I was more than happy to give this a go. I'm picturing a few other parts, eventually, celebrating the joy of snuggling/kissing/sexing up a tall fellow, but I intend to finish Stars and Before It's Too Late first, and also give Demon a good update.
> 
> So this may sit for a few weeks before it sees any further action.
> 
> Enjoy!

_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.  
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height   
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight   
For the ends of being and ideal grace. _

 _I love thee to the level of every day's  
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.   
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.   
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. _

 _I love thee with the passion put to use  
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. _

 _I love thee with a love I seemed to lose  
With my lost saints — I love with the breath,   
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,   
I shall but love thee better after death._

-Elizabeth Barrett-Browning

****************************************************************

Chapter I:  Meeting

 _A man never stands as tall as when he kneels to help a child._  
\- The Knights of Pythagoras

**************************************************************

Everything about him was...unexpected.

Kit had walked into the clinic that day looking for one of the mysterious Grey Wardens, saviors of Ferelden who were apparently ten feet tall, rode gryphons, and who slew hordes of darkspawn while wearing shining armor and wielding magical weapons.

The man bent over the makeshift table, brow furrowed with determination as he poured life into a child was none of these things.  As the boy took a single, gasping breath, then another, the Warden slumped in momentary exhaustion, waving away the wordless gratitude of the boy's family.

They walked closer, boots scuffing the hard-packed dirt floor, and the Warden's shoulders straightened, a strange hint of ozone piercing the air before he stood to his full height, turning to face them with suspicion.

Kit's eyebrows rose as she sized him up.   _No Ferelden farmer, this one._   He was surprisingly tall and fair, his reddish-blond hair, pale skin, and strongly chiseled features marking him more as belonging to the Anders folk than the name he affected.

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation.  Why do you threaten it?"  He nodded towards them, hands and staff held out in warning.

Kit held out a gauntleted hand placatingly.  "I'm just here to talk," she answered, looking to Varric with an unspoken plea.   _Come on, my golden-tongued friend- help me out._

Varric continued smoothly- "We're interested in getting into the Deep Roads; rumor has it you were a Warden.  Do you know a way?"

The  _mage?  Healer?  Warden?_   lifted an eyebrow in mingled exasperation and irritation, brushing past them as he walked over to a slightly cordoned-off area of the room, reaching up to a high shelf and retrieving a worn mortar and pestle.  Turning back towards them, he stepped to a small table where a small pot sat on top of an iron trivet.  Another bunch of slightly wilted herbs sat on a stained wooden plank, along with a knife.  Setting down his utensils, the Warden finally replied:

"Did the Wardens send you to bring me back, then?"

He picked up the knife and began dicing the bundle of greenery with a skill that spoke of long practice, his movements quick and angry.

"I'm-"  _slice-_  "not-"  _slice-_  "going," he gritted out.  "Those bastards made me get rid of my cat."

He paused, then, a wistful look in his eyes.  "Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot.  He hated the Deep Roads."

He resumed his knifework with vigor, ignoring the group.  Kit winced for him internally- the table was far too low for someone of his height, and standing hunched over in that position for any length of time had to kill his back.

****************************************************************

 _Who in their right mind brings a cat into the Deep Roads?_   She was starting to wonder if perhaps he wasn't a little touched, what with that hint of odd paranoia and strange choice of conversational topics.  And what a pity that would be-

Kit pushed away that train of thought.  Sure, she'd always mooned over the tall and lanky sort, and this fellow had it in spades, but now was no time to be licking her lips over his delectable build-

 _Maker's breath,_  she thought,  _did I just think 'delectable?'_

She walked over to lean against the wall behind him, nodding discreetly to Varric, Beth, and Aveline.  The three took the hint and wandered outside, and Kit watched his shoulders relax.

 _Thought so, my fine blond fellow.  Not fond of an armored crowd, are you?_

Kit continued, conversationally, "You had a cat named Ser-Pounce-a-lot-" she snickered slightly before she could help herself- "in the Deep Roads?"

He stood and turned to her, a defensive look on his face.  "He was a gift- a noble beast."  His face softened again, slightly, and Kit felt herself melt, just a bit, at the look in those honeyed amber eyes.  "Almost got ripped in half by a genlock, once- he swatted the bugger on the nose.  Drew blood, too."

Kit's skeptical expression must have been showing clearly on her face, because he scowled and stepped towards her.

 _Whoa, there, Blondie,_  she thought, stepping backwards as he advanced.  He stepped unexpectedly close, and Kit felt her eyes go wide with mingled surprise, trepidation, and  _yes, Maker's tits-_  a hint of pure animal response.  Her heartbeat sped up as a very tall, very handsome man smelling of herbs and feathers and a deeper, musky scent that made her want to purr and roll around in it like a patch of cat-mint reached for the shelf two handspans above her head and plucked down a small carafe of oil.  

He looked down at her, and something flashed between them like quicksilver and heat.

"You're a fierce little thing, aren't you," he said, tapping idly on one of her armored shoulders.

Kit grinned up at him, bravado masking the trip of her pulse.  "Perhaps it's not that I'm short, but rather that  _you're_  tall," she answered cheekily, reaching out a gauntleted finger to tug on one of those worn brass rings that adorned his silly coat.  "And fragile."

"Mmm-hm," he said, noncommittally, and reaching down a finger to her gauntlet sent a shock of electricity that made her yelp and release his coat.  "I'll grant you the first."

"In any case," he continued, turning back to the table, "The blighted acting Warden-Commander said that he made me 'too soft.'  I had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine."

He carefully picked up the chopped herbage and put it in the mortar, adding a bit of fragrant oil and grinding it a fine paste with the pestle before picking up the pot lid with a spare bit of cloth and adding the paste.  The smell of melted beeswax, oil, and herbs filled the air as he stirred, distributing the contents before walking over and placing the pot on the blackened metal crane next to the fire-pit and pushing it closer to simmer.

****************************************************************

As he wiped his hands with a relatively clean cloth, Kit noticed that his worn sleeves sported neat stitchery, the part that had obviously once been doubled on itself as a cuff cut and re-sewn to accommodate the Warden's long limbs.  They still barely covered his wrists, and she wondered if he tucked his trousers into his boots simply to hide the fact that they were probably too short as well.

And yet for all that he was tall and long-limbed, there was about him a sense of grace and control, not a bumbling colt but rather a languorous feline.   _I suppose he has to be fairly coordinated to pull off the usual glyph-sketching and staff-twirling, not to mention being able to sew people up as neatly as he does his clothes._

"And the Wardens just let you leave?  I rather thought joining the Wardens was for life," Kit said, trying to fill the awkward silence as he watched her.

"No offense," he said, "but don't you think this line of questioning is a bit  _personal_  considering that I'm not even sure who you are?"

"Ah," Kit said, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.  "My mother would never forgive my manners.  Kit Hawke, formerly of the Red Irons."  She slipped her left gauntlet off and offered her hand, a year of mercenary training overtaking the usual courtly bows and curtsies.

He stepped forward with a smile and took her hand in his, saying simply, "Anders."

As his hand engulfed hers, long, callused fingers and warm palm clasped against her own, Kit fell, utterly.  He stopped being  _Warden_  or  _Mage_  or  _Healer_ or  _Blondie_ , and became Anders,  _her_  Anders.  She felt a hum in her ears, desire and infatuation and that simple smile coursing through her like song.

She blinked, drawing in a breath and hoping that she didn't look too much like a gibbering idiot.  She could feel heat climbing up her neck as he released her hand.  She wondered if he felt a fraction of that same instant pull.

He stood before her, still, and in that moment she saw him swallow before turning to pick up his plank and knife, carrying them over to the wooden half-barrel full of water that stood in one corner.  Rolling up his sleeves, he took up the rag on the edge of the tub along with a sliver of soap that sat on a nearby shelf and began to wash the knife and board carefully.

"So about the Wardens," he continued, not looking at her, "The 'hopelessly tainted by the darkspawn' and 'plagued with nightmares about the Archdemon' parts don't go away, but it turns out that if you hide well, you don't have to wear the uniform or go to the parties."

He quickly rinsed the board and knife in the other half-barrel next to the first, taking up a clean but worn scrap of cloth to dry them before putting both on a slightly lower shelf.  His things were neatly organized despite the general dirt and squalor that was inevitably Darktown, implements tidily stowed within his own easy reach, but out of the reach of dirt or the hands of excitable children.

He turned to her, task complete, turning his sleeves back down over his wrists.  "So tell me, Serah Hawke, what precisely is it you plan to do in the Deep Roads?"

"I guess you could call us 'adventurers,'" she replied.  

He gave a snort of laughter at that and shook his head.  "Adventures involve daring escapes and kitten rescues from great heights- you're much more likely to find 'corruption' and 'death' in the Deep Roads.  I'd advise you to seek your adventures elsewhere."

Kit was already shaking her head.  "We're following up on some information that could make us unbelievably wealthy- and although in other circumstances I might be inclined to agree with you, I need to get my family out of Lowtown."

"Could be worse," he quipped, gesturing grandly about him.

Kit shook her head, again.  "You don't understand- hm."  She paused for a moment.  "Actually, I suppose you do.  Waiting impatiently outside are my good friends Varric Tethras, dwarf-at-large, Aveline Vallen, guardswoman, and my sister, Bethany, apostate-in-hiding."

His eyes lit in understanding.  "Ah."

****************************************************************

"My mother's family were nobility before my Void-damned uncle gambled it all away on 'investments.'  It didn't matter before the Blight- but now that we're here, I need to give my mother a proper home, and wield enough coin, influence, or both, to keep Bethany out of the hands of the Templars."

She tilted her head upwards, earnestly, golden eyes filled with entreaty.  "We're looking for a good entrance in the Marches.  Any information you could provide us with would be appreciated-"

She hesitated, not sure if it was the wrong thing to say.  "I could, perhaps, pay you-"

Anders scoffed at her words.  "If I wanted money, I've been going about it all wrong.  I'll die a happy man if I never think about the blighted Deep Roads again.  You can't imagine what I've come through to get here.  I'm not interested-"

He paused, for a moment, considering.  "Although- a favor for a favor, does that sound like a fair deal?  You help me, I'll help you?"

Kit would later be ashamed to admit to herself that her mind instantly dove merrily into the gutter, putting all sorts of nuances on 'favor' that had heat creeping back up her neck.  

"Help my expedition reach the Deep Roads, and I'll do whatever you need," she replied, licking her lips.

His eyes dropped to her mouth, then back up to her eyes, and throat dry, Kit suddenly wondered if she was the only one thinking of 'favors.'

"You don't ask for my terms?" he said, raising an eyebrow, a glint of humor coming into his eyes.  "What if I were asking for-" he paused, eyes flicking back to her mouth, then back up, lightening-quick- "the Knight-Commander's head on a spike?"

"Is that what you're asking, then?" she replied, folding her arms.   _Brat._

Anders gave her an indecipherable look, saying dryly, "You decide."

 ~~Oh, well, as long as you're leaving it up to me, perhaps dinner?~~

 ~~We could go back to my place- oh, wait-~~

 ~~Buh-~~

Her mind cycled through a variety of inappropriate responses before she settled on "Let's be more specific, shall we?  I don't do anything involving children or animals."   _Wait, did I just say something flirtatious with 'children' and 'animals' in the same sentence?_

She wanted to smack herself, or restart the entire conversation, or perhaps just pet his dusty pauldrons before running her fingers up and down the sides of his long, lean torso.  Would he be ticklish?  Did that stubble translate into a bit of curling chest hair that she could run her fingers through, nipples at just the right height that she could lap with her tongue while he buried his fingers in her hair-

Kit looked straight at him, eyes wide as she realized she was mentally undressing and molesting a near-stranger while he stood  _right in front of her-_

She only hoped her eyes conveyed attention and innocence rather than boldly translating the completely inappropriate thoughts in her mind.

He gave her a little smirk.  "Specific it is then.  I do, in fact, have a Warden map of the depths in this area.  But there's a price."  His smile faded, replaced by a serious expression with just a hint of worry.

"I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend, a mage."  His eyes flashed with anger and suddenly Kit realized-   _This man is no docile healer._   "A prisoner in the wretched Gallows.  The templars learned of my plans to free him.  Help me bring him safely past them, and you shall have your maps."

"Wait, templars?" Kit squeaked.   _No half-measures for this one._

"Would you do any less for your sister?" He asked, expression mulish.

"Well, I certainly hadn't planned to begin my illustrious career in Kirkwall with a snatch-and-grab from a former prison in the middle of a  _lake_ ," Kit replied acerbically.

Anders' lips twitched slightly.  "Hasn't stopped me before."

Maker help her, he  _was_  touched.  And strangely, she didn't care.

"However, I sent Karl a message to meet me in the Chantry tonight.  Maker willing, he'll be there, alone."  His expression hardened.  "But if there are Templars with him, I swear I'll free him from them, whatever the cost."

Kit breathed out.  "That sounds  _much_  more doable, and certainly I'd not leave Beth in the hands of the Templars if I could avoid it.  I can do no less for your friend."

He gave her a smile that warmed her to the soles of her feet.  "Meet me in the Chantry, tonight, then."

Kit nodded, not quite sure what else to say.  "'Til tonight, then, Anders."

He acknowledged her nod with one of his own, expression serious yet warm.  "'Til tonight, Serah Hawke."


End file.
